


Thinking < Knowing

by OctaviatheCow



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Ending, Atheism, Background Evil Morty, I'M NOT RICK, Probabably OOC, Sad Ending, ambiguous ending, headcanons ahoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctaviatheCow/pseuds/OctaviatheCow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First person P.O.V. Rick admits that he needs Morty- but only in his mind. Set straight after Rick Counters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking < Knowing

I want to pass out. Dealing with myself is taxing: we all know I'm an asshole on the best of days. I tried to damage control Morty, but he won't let it go, he's that dumb kind of curious that can only harm. He nudges my legs, tentatively, like testing a boat on rough water. I scrunch up a little, not giving him much room. It's his fault if he wants to tip the ship over. He sits with his eyes towards the floor, and asks,

"I'm not that important, am I, Rick?" I laugh my hard, cackling hyena laugh. I wasn't laughing because what Morty said was funny- no- it's just that Morty should've known the answer by now.

"You're -uurrpp- you're priceless, Morty." That's why I had to snatch that free Morty ticket behind your back. You're irreplaceable, in a sense. I could pick up any retarded kid off the street, and they would block my brain waves just fine- probably better than you.

There's only one kid, though, that has math dyslexia, who attemps to comprehend science, and exceeds in writing...

"Which definition of the word, Rick?"

Who will take a everything the wrong way trying to keep up with me.

"You're -uggh- a big boy, Morty, figure it out." I say, with no real heat, no emotion behind it. Disgusted, Morty wipes some of my spittle from his eyebrow with his forearm. He'll spend most of his life trying to add up my words. He won't ever even stop to analyze my actions (thank a nonexistent god for that).

Morty sighs through his nose, and roughly gets up from the couch. I can tell he's exasperated, that he's

" I'm so sick of your cryptic bullcrap! I'm not your- I'm not you're p-p-punching bag." Morty spits out. There he goes again, using that sophisticated vocabulary he's somehow managed to acquire. He stops pacing to stare at me imploringly. Almost begging me not to hit him in the heart. 

I shrug. I was never one to spare somebody's feelings. " Good, be- be sick of me;" You wouldn't be the first. " I don't care, Morty, if you haven't noticed."

" _Fine_." That's what Morty says, but it sounds more like ' _Fuck off, you old drunk_ '. He storms off, and from the sound of squeaking overhead- presumably to his room. 

"Yeah, fine!" I yell after him. I can feel a headache pulsing, budding at the base of my skull. Morty's definitely a buzz-killer in almost every given dimension. I take a large gulp from my flask in an effort to douse the the thorny ass flower blooming in the back of my head.

If I was any sort of a grandfather, I would go and apologize to Morty. But I'm not- after all, I killed my original Morty. Or at least I _thought_ I did.

**Author's Note:**

> Another weak ending, what a surprise! But I wanted to get this out.
> 
> As always, though, thank you for reading! (:


End file.
